Rise
by fiesa
Summary: Of all the Konoha Twelve, Shikamaru never wanted to be Hokage. Drabble- Shikamaru, Ino. This is what is left.


**Rise**

_Summary: Of all the Konoha Twelve, Shikamaru never wanted to be Hokage. Drabble- Shikamaru, Ino. _

_Warning: Major angst. Character death. _

_Set: Story-unrelated._

_Disclaimer: Standards apply._

* * *

_Chase your dreams to the abyss._

Silence. Unnatural.

This was not where he wanted to be. This never had been what he dreamed of. Of all the Konoha Twelve, Shikamaru never wanted to be Hokage.

The landscape in front of his eyes was covered with craters. Charred and burnt where fire jutsus had raged, muddy and flooded where water powers had been unleashed, there was a landslide full of rocks and sharp-edged rubble to the northern plains somewhere and pieces of the forest where plants were so murderous nobody dared to enter. He did not want to know how many shinobi had been burnt in the inferno, had drowned in the rivers, had been buried underneath the avalanche and had given their lives in the forest. (He knew the numbers exactly.) The screams were vivid in his mind. The blood, the stench of copper, ashes and death. He would see these plains in his dreams for the rest of his life. War was nothing like stories and books described it; Shikamaru yet had to find a tale that evoked the terror as realistically as he felt it here. People fought, people died, and _nothing_ changed. It was as easy as that, and equally senseless. In moments like those he hated the weight of the white, flame-embroidered robes. Even when he did not wear them he could feel the heavy material on his shoulders. It would suffocate him, one day.

_Don't get distracted. _He called out a name - one syllable only - before he realized it was not necessary. It was over already. Hidden Leaf had won.

(It did not feel like a victory.)

Confused, he froze. Had he called? Or had he just _thought_ he had called?

A hand touched the back of his head, carefully came to rest on the back of his nape. Familiar, so well-known that he did not need to turn in order to know who it was. Ino's hand felt as if it belonged there. Usually, she touched him only to connect his mind to others, to allow him to convey messages to his shinobi on the battlefield. How often had it been that way all throughout these fights? Now, in the silence of the aftermath, there was no open connection he felt through her calloused hands, no minds close to his except for hers. She stood behind him silently, without saying anything, only her warm hand on his nape. Neither of them moved. And suddenly, it stuck him: how she always was there, how she had always supported him in whatever he did and still continued to do so. How she was strong when he wanted to break down, had grown from the girl that had screamed and pouted into a woman who held her own. Turning his head barely enough to see her from the corner of his eyes, he took her in: her short, blond hair, her blue eyes, there was a deep gash on her face and a bandage around her other arm. Her uniform was plain, the same as his, and she wore the Konoha forehead protector. She looked like a warrior - like a stranger - and she looked like Ino, too.

And her hand was warm.

For a second Shikamaru thought she was trembling and then realized it was him. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he gathered his strength and turned to look at her directly. Her hand, still warm on his skin, carefully lifted and fell away, suddenly he wanted to capture it and feel her fingers close around his. Watching her felt different every time: Ino was Ino, his oldest friend, his best friend besides Chouji. There was no one he trusted like the two of them, nobody he wanted by his side as much as them. Ino looked at him, dark blue eyes ghosting over his face and his body, checking for injuries, making sure he was fine. He could still feel her hand in his nape: how often had she been standing behind him just like that? How often had they fought together, and how often had she supported him quietly and calmly? Always there, never far, when had been the last time he had turned around and _not_ seen her stand behind him? He had gotten used to her – to her silent presence, her tall figure, to the knowledge that turning around meant seeing her there up to the point he no longer needed to turn but could _feel_ her watchful mind behind him. How often had she been there when he had been too busy to notice? He had come to take her for granted. He had come to _expect_ her there – connect me, Ino, relay the message, tell him, tell her, be there, Ino. She had been there. And she had never complained. She had watched him take over their team after Asuma had died, had followed him when he had set out for revenge. She had been there when his father had told him to go on and when Naruto had made him promise to protect Konoha. She had been there. Always, always, how could he have not noticed before? Now, it seemed so clear, so simple. Ino was Ino. She had seen him at his best and at his worst, and somehow, she hadn't left him for it.

Shikamaru vowed he would tell her everything.

He would tell her how much he missed her when she was gone, how blue her eyes were and how he loved the scent of her freshly-washed hair. He would tell her he had been a coward, waiting and waiting and pretending to not be wishing for things that were unreachable. He would tell her he had long ago given up on the dream of his childhood because whenever he tried to imagine a small house and an averagely pretty wife her face danced in front of his eyes, and when he tried to think of names for his children her voice would give an opinion. He would tell her he woke with her name on his lips, sometimes, and that he could not remember a time when he had not loved her because somehow, inexplicably, she had become a part of him even though he had tried to fight it. There was no reason, actually, only his own, stupid cowardice, why, Chouji had asked, don't you just walk up and kiss her? I'm sure she'd be yours if you only said a word – but then there had been Orochimaru's last betrayal, Sasuke's and Sakura's last decision, Hinata's and Neji's last argument and Naruto's last wish and Shikamaru had been too busy holding up pretense to be anything else but a coward.

(And the Hokage. But that, as usual, was an excuse as well.)

Ino blinked, shadowed her face and glanced up at the sun that was slowly rising. Shikamaru followed the contours of her face with his eyes and felt a tiny smile tug at his lips. To hell with everything and everyone else. He would tell her, watch her face, watch her eyes. Consequences be damned, he was too old to pretend any further. She could not break his heart – it had been broken already long ago and Shikamaru found he still was quite alive.

Ino looked back at him and frowned at his smile. For the first time in eternity, he felt free.

"Let's finish this," he told her. When he returned to the peace talks she followed him, more a shadow than he ever had been. He never had loved her more than then.

_Rise and rise again.  
It is the only way to save the world._


End file.
